


goshen's remains

by redeyedwrath



Series: love. worship. consummation. consumption. [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Castiel wants Dean to swallow his grace), Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Canon Compliant, Inhuman Castiel, Introspection, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Set between 5x03 and 5x14, hunger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29824092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyedwrath/pseuds/redeyedwrath
Summary: At the core of its being, Castiel feels a tug.It snaps back into itself as the tug grows strongers, as part of its grace calls out for the rest. Dean Winchester’s soul is vibrant enough that Castiel feels Dean ask even if he is not aware.A flash. It lands in front of a restaurant. The road is abandoned: a lone street light flickers, then dies out.(Stands alone!)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: love. worship. consummation. consumption. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197053
Comments: 20
Kudos: 86





	goshen's remains

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses for this.
> 
> The conversations on Tumblr by autisticandroids about hunger and the sacred and the mundane made my brain go brrrrrrrrrrrr at four in the morning and this just came out of me. Thanks to Julia for looking over this for me <3
> 
> Castiel uses it/its pronouns in this because he's still a full-on angel at this point and he doesn't Identify with his body yet. Sorry if that's confusing for y'all! Also the cut-off words/weird punctuation is completely intentional.

_Moving me so bright_ _  
_ _His smiles stunning over the notions again_ _  
_ _Fewer days in fright_ _  
_ _The ladies gunning overline Goshen’s remains_ _  
_ _He preaches fear over there_

**\- Goshen's Remains, Pure Reason Revolution**

* * *

Castiel stretches itself in a place where no one can see it, its grace moving freely and unrestricted. The trees tremble softly at its presence, bowing to the side as it flows between them. Its vessel lies abandoned in a clearing. 

At the core of its being, Castiel feels a tug. 

It snaps back into itself as the tug grows strongers, as part of its grace calls out for the rest. Dean Winchester’s soul is vibrant enough that Castiel feels Dean ask even if he is not aware. 

A flash. It lands in front of a restaurant. The road is abandoned: a lone street light flickers, then dies out.

The door to the restaurant is framed by windows on either side. Neon signs advertising products and vacancy reflect in the glass, framing images of food. A burger towers over a family sitting at the window, looking down at them with a benign indifference. 

Dean Winchester is there; Castiel knows this. It takes the time to study the soft yellow glow coming from within, resonating with its grace. 

A bell sounds as it opens the door. 

People are sequestered in groups of families and friends, sat on unforgiving benches. Their heads are bowed, illuminated by the neon glow of the windows. Not all of the benches are occupied: there is ample space between them, yet they are clustered together in silence or furtive whispering. 

Their mouths form unthinking patterns, like they are reading from a book Castiel doesn’t see. Preoccupied with food, their hands move slowly in mundane motions – up, then down. Low moans of appreciation rise every once in a while. 

The machine in the corner creates sound that no one listens to but everyone seems to know. Background vibrations, hummed along to absently, heads bobbing up and down in a recognizable rhythm – a meter so internalized that it’s become part of them.

Dean Winchester motions towards Castiel when he sees it. Castiel should bristle at his presumption, as its siblings would, but it sits down on the stool next to Dean anyway. 

The texture of the stool feels new; not soft, but Castiel feels its spine bend as it sits. It's never sat on anything like this before. Castiel doesn't know if it likes the sensation. 

"Come on, man, loosen up a little. You're drawing attention." 

Castiel tilts its head, curling out its grace to the other occupants of the restaurants. Most of their souls are in a state of ecstasy, brightened at the consumption of grease and satiation of their hunger. 

Dean sighs, sipping at his beer. His soul remains the same. Curious. 

"Why did you call me?" Castiel asks. Its hand lands on the bar; wood, Castiel knows, overlaid with varnish, but... worse than normal, like it hasn't dried fully. Castiel squints at its fingers, rubbing them together, then brings them up to its nose. Bitter and sweet. 

Dean slaps its hands away. The contact burns. 

"What are you, a futuristic science robot? Don't do that." 

"My apologies," Castiel says. "I was curious about the substance on the bar." 

"Dude, that's just normal bar grime. You know, spilled beer, smeared grease, that sorta thing?" 

Castiel squints at Dean. 

"You poor repressed bastards. What do you even do on your day off if you don't have heavenly restaurants." 

"We don't get 'days off.'" 

The bottle stops halfway to Dean's mouth. His lips are pouted in anticipation of it – Castiel does not know why it focuses on this detail. 

"You're kidding me. You've been working since what – the Third Day?" 

Castiel makes a noise, its vocal chords straining and vibrating in its throat. Castiel has come to enjoy the sensation of producing sound while limited to a body – there is so much more feeling involved. 

"The First Day, but yes." 

The muscles in Dean's forearms twitch, and Castiel knows that the bottle is going to resume its trajectory. Castiel drifts out of time, its vessel frozen next to Dean. It lets itself spill out of it a bit, coming out of its ears and nostrils and slightly open mouth like fog. The neon light advertising a beer brand flickers. 

It makes sure not to touch the top of the bar, to avoid the... bar grime and lets itself drift over to Dean. It’s careful not to touch Dean, never to touch; even outside of time there is a risk that it will do harm to all the humans in here. But that risk is lessened slightly by the exaltation Castiel tastes in the air, molecules vibrating with ecstasy. 

Dean's soul pulses slowly as Castiel approaches, and Castiel lets itself hover over the light brown glass of the bottle, the dew reflecting Castiel and casting tiny lights onto the bar. Dean's lips are pouted softly still, an _oh_ of anticipatory reception, the corners dimpled with what Castiel has come to recognize is a combination of exasperation, disgust, and fondness. 

The impulse has occurred to Castiel before, but it is suddenly struck by the. 

It. 

It wants. 

Castiel knows Dean Winchester's flesh intimately; it has reshaped his body from clay and breathed his life back into him. Castiel has cradled Dean's soul in its grace and sung in adulation when he accepted Castiel's claim as it dragged him out of perdition. 

It knows what it would see if it would slip into Dean; it knows the precise way Dean's esophagus bends, the angle at which his nose transitions into his throat, the length of his intestines. And yet, even though it knows, Castiel is taken over by the. 

By the n. 

Need to take and be taken, to have Dean open his mouth and let Castiel flow into him willingly. 

The claim on his soul was never enough for Castiel. It looks at the pout on Dean's lips, suspended over a tepid bottle of beer, and it _wants_. 

It shapes, in this place that is not a place and a time that does not exist, momentarily, a future where Dean lets himself sag back against the bar, his face open and mouth slack with transverberation as Castiel delivers; the sweet burn of angelic possession nothing compared to the all-encompassing rightness of _Cas-in-Dean_. 

There is no time attached to this, so it sits there, above the glass. Only when the air around them has started pulsing with the soft yellow of worship does Castiel draw back into itself, and resume its place in time. 

The bottle lands, and Dean swallows, then sets it down on the bar with a scoff. "No wonder you're so heartless." 

Castiel looks down at itself. When God reconstituted Castiel's vessel, He did not neglect to include a heart with it. 

"Well, whatever. That's what I called you here for anyway." 

"You called me here for earthly pleasures?" 

"Buddy, we tried that already with Chastity and it did not work out. No, I called you because I need your help, and Sam is out of town." 

A distant throb of something that could be described as pain, in the same place where Dean first stabbed him with the knife. Castiel draws on Jimmy's memories for any relevant medical information. Its arm isn't tingling, and despite its waning grace it's in good physical condition. 

Weird. 

"Of course, Dean," Castiel says. It slowly brings its hand to its chest – massaging a hurt spot is soothing to human skin – and rubs. Dean's eyes flicker to where its hand is on its chest, and for a moment his soul glows so bright that it drowns out the vibrations of worship. Castiel feels it's necessary to avert its eyes, though the curious ache in its chest returns when it does. 

"There's a vampire nest on the outskirts of town. I'm not used to taking out those kinds of things by myself, and I need someone to watch my back." 

Castiel is very good at watching – it is what God created Castiel for. Even when limited to two eyes, Castiel has found itself to be very good at watching Dean. 

"I may be disconnected from the Host but I can probably still smite them for you if you need me to." 

"Thanks, Cas–" (Castiel drifts out of time. Vasodilation is a sign that it isn't experiencing a heart attack, but discomforting all the same. It always wants to atone for what it did to Anna, but it prays for her guidance again, even though she isn't there to give it.) "– but I think I'll do this the old-fashioned way." 

Castiel nods. Dean sips at his beer, then licks his lips. He shifts when he realizes Castiel is watching him, clears his throat. The bottle is empty. 

Ah. Dean is uncomfortable. Castiel makes sure to turn away. 

"Can I get you anything?" the bartender asks. She’s cleaning a glass with a rag, her eyes focused on Castiel. Dean turns to her, his legs spreading where he’s sitting on the stool – his hands lay clasped on the bar. She holds his attention fully. 

Castiel frowns, and swallows. Weird reflexes. It opens its mouth to decline. 

“He'll have a shot,” Dean says with a wink. He turns to Castiel. "Can you even get drunk?" 

"I don't know," Castiel says honestly. "It's probably easier now that I'm not at full power." 

"At least we know erectile dysfunction is good for something," Dean mutters, looking down at his clasped hands. Castiel frowns again: Dean isn’t making any sense, and Castiel doesn’t think its vessel is defective. 

"I'm fully capable of getting hard, Dean." 

"Dude!" Dean squeaks. The bartender leaves a shot on the bar. Dean ignores her, so Castiel does too. "I know you're... an angel of the lord or whatever, but that's not something you say to another guy." 

"But–" 

"No. Keep it to yourself." 

Castiel doesn't w. 

Want to keep this to itself. But Dean has asked it to, so it will. 

Dean's eyebrows are raised. When Castiel doesn’t say anything, he sighs, motioning to a metal bowl. "Grab some of those peanuts while you're at it." 

The peanuts are salty. Castiel doesn’t like them. The salt bites at its skin. The fibre from the peanuts evaporates as soon as it swallows them

"Down your shot and let's go." 

The glass is cold in its fingers, and it sniffs at the substance in it. The scent is... sharp, like a blade, but not bad. It swallows the shot. The alcohol flows down into it, tracing a path from its throat down to its stomach, where it settles warmly. It's nice. Dean just shakes his head, and turns to walk out of the restaurant. 

"Dean!" Castiel calls after him, confused. "I don't have any money." 

It’s Castiel’s understanding that paying for services is a regular human practice. Once, it observed a church service, tucked away in a corner. When people had asked it for donations at the end, it had been unable to provide them with any.

"Oh, right." Dean throws some bills on the bar. "This should cover it. Now let's go."

Dean walks out. Castiel gathers its grace tightly to its core, tucked away in the aching place, and follows.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! Please leave a comment if you are so inclined. I might at some point plagiarize myself for a longer fic but uuuh I don't know. Don't mind me.


End file.
